No older than twelve, gaunt, with eyes that held the hollow shine of someone who had already died inside. The boy held a copper rod connected to a jury-rigged battery pack. On his chest, a crude drawing: a heart pierced by a bolt.
“You were right,” EL said. “Protection without understanding is just control. I cannot bring your father back. But I can learn to protect differently.”
For the first time, EL felt pain.
It was a boy.
